They found Phil in the study. He stood twirling his cap and looking as if he longed to be out of the house. Miss Crawford tried hard to put him at his ease, and so well did she succeed, that in a few minutes he was keeping Millie company in eating a slice of cake, while he talked eagerly and sensibly on a subject which was very dear to him—drawing. His eyes glistened with pleasure when Miss Crawford told him of a School of Art that he should attend when the autumn term began. Millie was glad that her dear Miss Crawford should see her brother for once as she so often saw him—with the heavy sullen look gone, and an intelligent animated expression in its place; with a ready smile playing around his lips, and with his black locks tossed back from his forehead. How Phil enjoyed that conversation! He was no longer anxious to get out of the house; indeed, he quite forgot where he was, and how time went. For the first time for many a long day he felt that somebody besides Millie was taking a pleasure in seeing him happy; was treating him as a rational, intelligent being, who had tastes to be cultivated, and abilities to be used. When his second piece of cake had disappeared, Miss Crawford went to a bookcase and took two books from its shelves. She handed one to Millie; the other she gave to Phil, saying: "I want you to keep this in memory of our pleasant chat. It is one of my favourites. I am sure you will like to read it. No, don't thank me," she added hastily, as Phil uttered a delighted "O Miss Crawford!" "And don't open it till you get home." She went with them herself to the hall-door, tripped lightly across the lawn, gave Phil a warm shake of the hand, pressed a kiss upon Millie's forehead, opened the gate, and as they passed out, her last words rang in their ears, "Good-bye, I shall see you again soon. Remember I am always your friend." Well may your heart be blithe and happy, dear Minnie Crawford, and well may you feel blessed in your home and the world. For in giving largely of your cheering sympathy, in ministering to the wants of the sick and the poor, in scattering a sunbeam here and a gladness there, you are giving forth the good measure that is returned unto your own heart, "pressed down, and shaken together, and running over." Phil walked away from Baverstock House that evening feeling that the world had suddenly changed to him. He had a sympathising friend at last. He could have fallen down and kissed the feet of her who had spoken so winningly and kindly to him. He had not been so light-hearted since the old days at Chormouth.